Keeping Score: A Sports Romance

by Dee Lagasse

  Following her lead, I grabbed a few of the near-empty serving dishes on the table. Once we were in the kitchen and out of earshot, she turned back to face me.

  “What are you doing, man?” she asked quietly. “As happy as I am to see you…coming around after six years? We might be older, but you’re still the same. I can see what you’re trying to do with Isa. Don’t.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Playing dumb wouldn’t work. Not here. Not with Salem. She knew about my past with Isa. More than that, she was the only person who knew how I felt about Isa when we were kids.

  Her raised eyebrows and the small snort of disbelief called me out immediately.

  “Okay, fine,” I conceded. “But, it’s more than you think.”

  She flipped the lever on the kitchen faucet, not saying a word as she began to rinse off the dirty dishes.

  “She’s always been more than that to me, and you fucking know it.” My voice was low, but there was no hiding the emotion packed in my defense.

  “I just needed to hear you say it.” She grinned as she wiped her hand on a kitchen towel. “So, what’s the plan?”

  Isa

  Instead of going back home after brunch, I drove a few streets over to my parents’ house. It seemed pointless to drive thirty minutes home just to drive thirty minutes back to Fox Hollow to take photos at the high school’s football practice for Jake.

  I didn’t tell my mom or dad that I was coming by…or about Jake.

  Knowing the front door was always unlocked during the day, I let myself in. I wandered around my childhood home—peeking in rooms as I went along—until I found Mom and Abuela in the kitchen.

  The cinnamon lingering in the air when I walked in the door should have been a giveaway. Today was the first day of the varsity team’s practice. Which meant one thing: Mom and Abuela were making polvorones for the team—classified as sweet bread but commonly known as cookies.

  “I should have known,” I chuckled, scooping a polvorón up as I passed by. “Yum pan dolce,” I said, sighing with content as I took the first bite. The outside was crunchy with a nice crackly top, but the inside was soft and chewy. It tasted like magic. Perfectly baked magic. “Make sure you throw some extras in there for Jake. He’ll be at practice tonight.”

  “Isabel!” Mom exclaimed, wiping her hands on her apron. An ear-to-ear grin greeted me as she pulled me into a hug. “I didn’t know you were coming by today, mija.”

  “Bueno. Isabel can make las galletas ahora.” Abuela chuckled as she took off her own apron and handed it to me. She planted a quick kiss on my cheek before she walked over to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. “¡Hola, Mariquita!

  Neither of us could tell you why she chose to call me “Ladybug.”

  That didn’t change the fact that it was one of my favorite nicknames. The older I got, the more I appreciated having something like that with my grandmother.

  Even at almost eighty, Abuela was a spitfire.

  Her aging body may have slowed her down a bit, but her mind was still sharp as a nail. So much that she only just agreed to move into my parents’ house a year ago—and it took an incredible amount of convincing from my mom and dad. Even though she’d spent most of her time at our house growing up, she’d had her own townhouse as well. I couldn’t imagine what it felt like giving up her independence after having it for so long.

  One of five daughters, Evita Isabel Torres Velasquez fled to America in 1957 with nothing but a backseat full of baby clothes, a map, and five hundred dollars. She was eight months pregnant with my mother—desperate to get away from an abusive husband. She planned for months, saving and hiding money every chance she got. Her two older sisters helped her in any way they could. One of them got her the 1929 Ford Model A she drove across the border into Texas. Not long after that, she settled in Massachusetts and changed her name to Evita De la Rosa—paying homage to her childhood best friend and little sister Rosa.

  From what I was told, my biological grandfather looked for her for years. In the stories she told, Abuela called him “El Diablo.” When I was younger, I likened him to Voldemort (the dark wizard in Harry Potter). We didn’t speak his name, and when we did talk about him…there was nothing good to be said.

  She did whatever she needed to survive on her own. No matter how hard things got, returning to Mexico was never an option. She taught herself English and became a United States citizen on my mom’s tenth birthday. She didn’t contact anyone in her family until my mom turned eighteen—not until Abuela knew her husband couldn’t come and take my mom away. Then, she filed for divorce.

  I couldn’t imagine not being able to drop in and see my mom and dad. And Abuela too. How hard it must have been for her to be all alone in a foreign country, how selfless she had to be to give up everything she’d ever known in order to ensure my mom’s safety. She missed out on so much in life because she was always looking over her shoulder.

  It’d never been lost on me that I got to live the life I have because my abuela was brave.

  “¡Hola, Abuela!” I smiled, pulling the apron over my head. “Did you find anything good on Netflix?”

  Last time I was over, I set her up with her own Netflix profile and showed her how to use it. She was over the moon when she saw they had so many of her favorite telenovelas, and quite a few she hadn’t seen yet.

  “¡Oh, si!”

  Her eyes lit up as she started telling me about the shows she’d been watching. I made a mental note to watch a few of the ones she seemed really into. It would give us something to talk about the next time I came over.

  When Abuela paused, Mom let out a chuckle. “Abuela has become quite the little binge-watcher.”

  Waving her off, Abuela made me promise to come say goodbye before I left and excused herself to go “binge-watch” La Reina del Flow.

  Mom shook her head as she leaned in toward me. “I tried telling her I didn’t need any help.”

  “Lo escuché!” Abuela called out and I burst out in laughter.

  “So, Jake, huh?” Mom smirked without skipping a beat. “I heard you saw him last night.”

  “Oh, yeah? Did you?” I rolled my eyes. The only person she could have gotten that information from was my brother. “I’m sure Javi forgot to mention it was an ambush—partially set up by him.”

  “¡Basta!” she scolded as she scooped flour into the mixing bowl. “Your brother was just trying to help.”

  Arguing with her was pointless. My mom and I were close, but Javier was a mama’s boy. My brother could very well murder someone and not only would my mom let him hide the body in her backyard, she’d also be his alibi. Javi could do no wrong in her eyes.

  “And don’t think changing the subject is going to get you off the hook, mija,” she added, as she began to knead the dough in her hand. “It’s about time you and Jake patched things up. All this over a silly little kiss when you were kids.”

  She was baiting me. She wanted me to admit it was more than just a “silly little kiss.” I never talked about what happened between me and Jake—not with my mom, at least.

  Javier knew, though. I assumed some things were safe between the two of us, but by the way my mother was fishing right now…

  “I know,” I agreed, not wanting to give her any fuel to feed the fire.

  Jake and I had only just found our way back into each other’s lives. We didn’t need an extra push from Alma Coleman.

  Everything my mother did was done with the best intentions. However, it wasn’t always executed properly. My mom could be pushy—especially if she felt strongly about something. I needed more time to figure out what I was feeling before she started trying to shove us back together.

  “You know?” she repeated suspiciously. “That’s it? No argument? Just, you know?”

  “What do you want me to say, Mom?” I asked. “You’re right. It’s been long enough. It’s time to put the past behind us.”

  “So, that’s wh
y you got all dressed up for brunch at Salem’s?” she pushed. “Just to put the past behind you?”

  Damn it, Javier.

  “I don’t know what Javier told you,” I started as I transferred the treats from the cooling racks to the platters set out on the counter. “But, yes, I went to brunch at Salem’s. Salem invited me and Jake when she saw us at the farm stand last night.”

  My mother stopped what she was doing and stared at me sternly. “Mírame a las ojos.”

  I paused at the warning in her tone—her statement. It was something she always said to me when she thought I was hiding something—look me in the eye—daring me to try to lie to her face again.

  It was time to redirect the conversation. She wouldn’t let this go; I knew that much. Between my mom and Salem this morning, I just needed a small break from the matchmaking attempts. “Is Dad here? I’m going to practice tonight to take photos, and I want to talk to him about a few things.”

  “Your father didn’t mention anything about you going to practice.”

  Again, she was digging.

  This time I was expecting it, though.

  “I’m just doing a favor for an old friend.”

  Jake

  The field was empty.

  Practice wasn’t expected to begin for another hour, but something told me I needed to get there early.

  After my training session, I showered and made my way over to the place that had been my home away from home for four years of my life. I owed everything I had to my time here at Fox Hollow High School. If it weren’t for Coach Coleman and the other coaches on the team teaching me the fundamentals of football and about work ethic in general, I wouldn’t be in the NFL.

  There were no days off, even in the off-season. If you weren’t committed to playing another sport or school activity, you spent your time after school in the weight room. As we got older, things like after-school jobs were also taken into consideration.

  Coach wasn’t a tyrant by any means. Quite the opposite, really. If you didn’t want to put the work in, he wouldn’t force you; you just wouldn’t be part of the starting lineup.

  The summer before freshman year, the weight room opened up to students wanting to utilize what the school had. I was the only freshman that showed up every day—even on the weekends.

  After two weekends in a row, Coach invited me to the varsity tryout. I made the team and started in the very first game. He was hard on me. Sometimes it felt like Coach pushed me harder than anyone else. But, man, it felt fucking good to make him proud. It still did.

  That was all I ever wanted.

  Well, that…and to date his daughter.

  I always assumed one was more of an attainable goal than the other.

  “If you think being a big-time NFL player is going to get you out of carrying equipment out to the field, you’re very mistaken, my friend.”

  I turned to face Isa, and my breath hitched in my chest.

  I wished I’d had a warning, because seeing her standing mere inches away from me in a black crop-top T-shirt, paired with a matching backward baseball cap, all but did me in. Isa looked gorgeous all done up this morning, but seeing her like this sent a wave of nostalgia through me I couldn’t shake.

  I gulped, hard, hoping she didn’t notice how thrown off-kilter I was by her presence. I forced myself to look away from her long, toned legs. They seemed to go on forever. My focus shifted to the way her tight cutoff jean shorts hugged her hips.

  Did she have these same curves before?

  Maybe I just pushed the idea of them to the back of my mind.

  After all, there was nothing forgettable about her body.

  “Never,” I managed to get out.

  “Also,” she grinned mischievously as we walked to the storage closet on the far end of the field, “I brought a couple of boards if you wanted to hang out after this.”

  “Boards, as in skateboards?”

  One of the first things I bought with my paper route money was a skateboard. I was so desperate to find something—anything—in which to bond with Isa. I fell on my ass a lot when I first started. Once I got it though, I understood why she loved it so much.

  I didn’t tell her that one of the first things I bought with my signing bonus was a custom board. I didn’t admit that my favorite way to spend a Saturday morning in Miami was skating down to the beach.

  Or that, one night, when I looked through her Instagram, I found a video of her skateboarding downtown with some of her friends. It was my favorite thing to watch when I was homesick—both for Fox Hollow and her.

  “No, surfboards,” she deadpanned. “Yes, skateboards. Unless you’re afraid to get hurt?”

  Terrified, Bug.

  Admittedly though, my fear had nothing to do with getting on a skateboard.

  “Me? Afraid?” I scoffed. “I thought we covered this last night. I’m not scared of anything, remember?”

  She pulled a single silver key from the pocket of her shorts. “All right, superstar. Grab the blocking sleds.”

  Isa

  The equipment shed was actually more like a small equipment building.

  It was filled with new or almost-new equipment, most of it purchased personally by my father himself.

  We always lived modestly, in spite of my dad’s former profession. My childhood home had three bedrooms. Dad’s truck was ten years old. Mom loved shopping at discount stores like Marshall’s and TJ Maxx. Their idea of a good time was rummaging through flea markets for hidden treasures and strolling through the farmers’ market downtown on a Saturday morning.

  None of his kids—whether it was me and Javier or the boys he coached—had ever gone without, though. My father never asked for anything from anyone unless it was for the team. Every year he hosted two charity events, and all proceeds went to Fox Hollow’s athletic department.

  The whole region came to our town on Sundays to watch the Bluecoats play. The Bluecoats represented Massachusetts. No one in this state loved them more than we did in Fox Hollow, but they weren’t just ours. We had to share the team.

  The Fox Hollow High School team, however, was ours and ours alone.

  Businesses closed early on Friday nights. Teachers never gave homework that day. It wasn’t just the high school’s team, it was the whole town’s.

  “Need a hand?” a gruff voice behind me asked, causing me to drop the mesh bag full of footballs to the ground.

  Seething anger filled me when I found myself face-to-face with Devon McDaniels.

  Like Jake, he was wearing black athletic shorts and a heather gray T-shirt with navy-blue lettering. While Jake’s shirt said “Fox Hollow Football Alumni,” Devon’s read “Fox Hollow Football Staff.”

  I had forgotten that earlier this summer, my dad asked if I’d be upset if he hired Devon as the team’s offensive line coordinator. At the time, it took everything in me not to burst out laughing. It was incredibly thoughtful and so like my dad to be concerned about me first.

  As far as me caring about Devon, though? Anything I felt for him was ancient history.

  At least, until I found out he went around telling people he slept with me, after I broke up with him.

  “Isa, hi. I came out to the field as soon as your dad said you were here.” He grinned. “It’ll be like old times.”

  “Are we talking about before or after you lied about having sex with her?”

  I let out a breath as I heard Jake’s voice behind Devon. There was no way this was going to end well.

  Jake’s tone seemed level, almost emotionless. But I’d seen the dangerous look in his eyes too many times before a game. It only took one hit, or for the wrong person to say the wrong thing, for him to snap. Jake wasn’t a violent person by nature, but when he lost that composure, he’d become a person I didn’t recognize.

  “I’ll grab the rest, Bug,” Jake said to me, as he grabbed one of the footballs that had tumbled out of the bag I dropped. He lowered his voice before adding, “I’ll behave. I promise.
”

  Jake

  I forgot Devon the Lying Piece of Shit McDaniels worked for Coach Coleman.

  As soon as I saw him beelining toward the equipment shed, I dropped everything in my hands. There wasn’t enough time to even process what I was doing before I was eavesdropping outside of the door.

  Sure, I guessed people could change. The smug smirk on his face told me everything I needed to know, though. I saw it all the time with guys in the league. Men who threw an abundance of charm at women in the hopes that their good looks and status would be enough of a distraction. Those guys were looking for one thing. I knew. I was that guy before.

  Truth be told, if I weren’t back home, I probably still would be.

  Models. Actresses. Cheerleaders. Socialites. None of them ever came to my condo. It was always their house or a hotel. And it never happened twice. It didn’t matter how good the sex was—always a one and done.

  “Well, if it isn’t Jake Pierce, stepping down from his throne to mingle with the common folk.” Devon’s condescending sent a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. “What did we ever do to deserve this honor?”

  I will not punch him.

  I will not punch him.

  I will not punch him.

  “I’m here because my mentor asked me to come and show the boys what a real football player looks like.” I knew taking that jab at him would make him angry.

  Due to a patellar tear during our sophomore year of high school, Devon was forced to hang up his cleats. After college, he ended up coming back to Fox Hollow to ask Coach Coleman for a job.

  “Did you bring someone?” he shot back.

  Before I could answer him, Coach Coleman’s voice boomed from behind me. “If you two are done comparing dick sizes, could you please join us on the field? Players are starting to show up.”

  I fought back a laugh before I apologized and followed him out to the field.

  It didn’t matter what I did for a job, how much money I had in the bank, or who I was; when Coach spoke, I listened. So, I decided in that moment that I would just steer clear of Devon for the remainder of the practice.